


Lord of the Hunt

by GreenEyedKestrel



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Dom Loki, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 07:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1296778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenEyedKestrel/pseuds/GreenEyedKestrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki doesn't have many friends, but when he does, they're...special. Ǽrendis gets an insight into what happens when the mask comes down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I did NOT need to see that...

It had been a long day. Long, and tiring, and glorious. I'm at my best on days like that, where I can run in the crisp Autumn air long after anyone else's legs would give out, following the horses. Stamina, one of the things that make a good falconer. I'm one of the best.

It was late afternoon now, and the low, orange sun slanted through the spires of Asgard, filling the courtyard with gold, making the silvery stonework glow. I was coming around the corner, about to pass by the stable block, on my way to return the bird on my wrist to her perch in the mews. I would have been there by now, Alfrey hooded and settled, getting my things for the baths after a long, hard day but Lady Frigga had stopped me to ask after my mother, and it's always a pleasure to speak with the Queen. She pays no mind to rank or station, all Ǽsir are equal in her eyes, and equally deserving of her time and concern. So, it happens that I was a full half-hour later than I otherwise would have been, and I heard a sound that I would otherwise never have heard- a low growl from the stalls across the courtyard.

“Oh, you don't want to do that...”

The bird on my wrist spread her wings, turning her head toward the sound, and small wonder- that was the voice of her master. He's a strange one, that lord. Takes care of his own beasts, when most Ǽsir of his station, even well below it, simply toss the rein of their mount or the jesses of their bird to a servant or thrall, giving the creature not a thought until the next time they wish to hunt or ride. He grooms his mare himself, taking his time, treating her with respect, even fondness. Dyrfinna shines like polished jet, and her feed is always the best Asgard has to offer. He returns his merlin to the mews himself, hoods her with his own hand... though not today. Today he'd asked me to see to Alfrey for him, saying he had other matters to attend to.

It seemed that this matter involved pinning a stableboy up against the wall of Dyrfinna's stall. This particular youth's name is Brynjolfr, but everyone calls him Ref for his red hair and sly skill with the horses. Half the time, the creatures themselves seem bemused as to how he always manages to get them doing exactly as he pleases. It seemed that someone else was giving the orders now...

Ref had both wrists pinioned above his head by one pale, long-fingered hand, his head canted to the side to expose his throat, strands of fiery hair escaping from their tie. A sleek, dark head bent to the boy's neck, and I could see the blooming purple rings left by his teeth. Loki bit again, drawing a whimper from the writhing youth in his grasp, and now I was frozen to the spot in horrified fascination, because Loki's free hand was slipped down the front of Ref's unlaced breeches, and it was moving...

At first I could hardly believe my eyes- I expected this kind of behaviour from some of the other nobles, but Loki? I felt the bile rise in my throat in revulsion... but then I saw the expression on Ref's face. I heard his gasps, saw how his lower lip was clenched between his teeth, how his hips tilted into Silvertongue's hand.

I heard Loki's soft growl.

“If you spend yourself all over my hand, I will not be pleased.”

I realised that I was biting my own lip, that I had sunk back against the wall, into the shadows.

Ref whined.

“No... please, please let me...”

Loki bared his teeth in a snarl, tightening his right hand around Ref's wrists and ripping his left from the boy's breeches to pin his throat against the wall. Ref hissed, fighting to breathe.

“Don't you DARE question me,” the prince hissed, his face inches from the boy's own, and leaned forward to deliberately bite him on the cheek. “Apologise. NOW.”

He released Ref, who crumpled to the floor, wheezing. The youth had barely caught his breath when he straightened, kneeling at Loki's feet like this was something he had done many times before. His chin up, he waited, silently, as Loki unlaced his own breeches.

“I don't have all day, boy.”

As if this was a signal, two hands came up, a red head leaned forward, and Ref eased the long curve of the Prince's cock out of its tight leather prison, taking the length of it in his mouth with obvious relish. Loki gave a long sigh, his slender fingers twining themselves in Ref's hair, his hips bucking forward, fucking the boy's mouth in a leisurely fashion. 

I suddenly realised where I was and just how wrong it was for me to be witnessing this, and began to slowly inch my way around the corner. I had forgotten the merlin on my wrist, and when her tailfeathers brushed against the stonework, she flapped her wings, giving out a short cry. Loki's eyes opened...and met mine.

He grinned wickedly.

I fled.

~:~

The next day as I came out of the baths, hair still dripping down my back, he was waiting for me. That tall, leatherclad silhouette lounging back against the wall was unmistakeable, even at a distance, and I would have to pass him in order to return to my quarters. I cursed under my breath and quickened my pace, hoping he wouldn't speak if I simply willed him away...

“Ǽrendis?”

No such luck.

He pushed himself off the wall as I drew near, and I could tell he was plotting something. He had that blank look of innocence on his face that the entire court has come to distrust in self-defence. Well, the entire court bar Thor. Sometimes I suspect that the blonde giant actually enjoys being made a fool of by his wily younger brother.

“I know this is a little out of the blue, but I was going to go riding with Thor today, and our father called him away unexpectedly. I have a beautiful cold lunch in my saddlebags which is going to be wasted, Dyrfinna's practically champing at the bit to go for a good long run- would you join me in his place?”

I must have looked equally as shocked as I felt, this was not at all what I had been expecting to hear. I was evidently silent a little too long, for he spoke again.

“...we are friends, are we not? I'd be grateful for your company, so if you feel you can leave the birds in the capable hands of your second, would you object to spending the day with me?"

He leaned back against the wall once more, hands behind his back, ankles crossed in an effortlessly elegant manner that he was probably completely unaware of. He grinned disarmingly, cocking a questioning eyebrow.

“Well?”

I'm afraid I spluttered for a bit before managing to get out any coherent words.

“But... your Highness...”

“Oh, don't call me that. Please? Just Loki?” He saw my reluctance, and pressed harder. “It's just us, you know. And you forget half the time when we're out hawking, did you realise that?”

“I... did not...” I suddenly had an awful suspicion. “...please tell me I don't forget with anyone else...”

He laughed, teeth flashing in the sun. How he always manages to show all his teeth when he laughs, I still have no idea.

“Oh, Mother doesn't mind. She likes you, you can actually hold an intelligent conversation. Will you come?”

I coughed, realising something important that he'd forgotten.

“Your High- I mean, Loki? I don't own a horse. I'm a vassal, remember? Good enough for a decent pair of boots to take me places, and no more.”

“Now that's where you're wrong.”

He smirked, pushing himself off the wall once more and slinging a familiar arm around my shoulder to steer me in the direction of the stables.

“You only _think_ you don't own a horse. But in reality...” here we rounded the corner, and I saw his own mare, standing saddled and ready, a groom at her head. Beside her stood another mare, golden where Dyrfinna was coal black, also saddled and pawing at the packed earth with a forehoof.

“...Ǽlfgifu here is more than happy to prove you wrong. Think of her as a century's worth of name-day gifts.”

I rounded on him with a suspicious glare.

“You were planning to go with your brother? Yet you just happened to have a spare horse? A spare, ridiculously beautiful horse?”

I was weakening, and he could tell, because he barely had to drag me over at all.

Ǽlfgifu was stunning, one of those once-in-a-lifetime beasts, all legs and nose, and the intelligence in her eyes was astounding. She met my gaze steadily, barely blinking when Loki tossed me a crisp, green apple. I gave it a quick, sharp twist and it fell into two perfect halves. Loki whistled appreciatively.

“I've never mastered the knack,” he said, wistfully, as I held out my hand to the golden mare, one half of the apple on my flat palm. My place may be with the birds, but I've spent enough time in Ref's company to be comfortable around Asgard's mounts. Except for Sleipnir, but then the Allfather's the only person who can control that raging eight-legged mountain of a horse. Most other people are sensibly terrified.

I bit into the other half of the apple and crunched happily.

“You have much to learn, my Prince,” I teased, and munched it down to the core, which I also gave to Ǽlfgifu. Waste not, want not, as the saying goes.

“Then you'll come?” he asked nonchalantly, like he hadn't been counting on this magic horse winning my heart.

I sighed.

“Very well. Will you let me have ten minutes? I'm a little... bedraggled still,” I explained, gesturing at my dripping hair.

“Hm. Any longer and I'm coming in there to get you.”

~:~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been researching Norse and Viking culture, and I'll be slipping in quite a lot of it. I'm also comfortably knowledgeable in the region of Mediaeval culture and society, so you'll probably find that my Asgard ends up being a mixture of the two!
> 
> For those interested, Ref is a shortened version of Refre, or fox.


	2. Just a simple ride. Honestly.

As we passed the gates of the citadel, walking our mounts over the high, arching stone bridge that led to the greenwood, Loki turned to me.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, a hint of laughter in his eyes.

For a moment, all I could think of was the look on his face as he marked Ref's skin with his teeth.

“Mostly...” I hedged, attempting to sound teasing rather than concerned. I shouldn't have worried- all he did was flash me a grin and spur Dyrfinna on to a canter. 

I swore, and urged Ǽlfgifu on to follow, but as soon as she realised she was being given her head, I forgot all about my annoyance. Her gait was smooth as butter, and she was so fleet of foot she took my breath away- it was like flying. I was so taken with her grace and speed that when Loki turned his own mount to leap the low-lying shrubs and crash into the untracked woodland, I nearly failed to follow him. Fortunately Ǽlfgifu seemed to have decided that catching up with Dyrfinna was her one goal in life, and I had barely touched the reins before she had gathered herself, turned and leaped almost in one movement.

Mist gathered around my mare's fetlocks as she slowed to a walk This made no sense- it had been a bright, sunlit day when we crossed the bridge, not a cloud in the sky. Now, the world was painted in shades of blue and grey, and I could hear a strange whispering sound, a sinister susuruss barely on the edge of hearing.

“Loki?” I called, hesitantly, and my voice fell flat, deadened by the curling fog. Suddenly frightened, I tried again, as Ǽlfgifu snorted, backing up a pace or two as she sensed my distress.

“LOKI!”

A green glow flared in the distance, and I heard his voice, filtering faintly through the misty air.

“...follow the light... I didn't expect it to be this thick so quickly...”

“You were expecting this?” I muttered to myself, but gently tugged at Ǽlfgifu's rein to turn her head. We had been travelling in entirely the wrong direction, it was no wonder I hadn't caught up with him.

The mare didn't turn. She tossed her head, fighting the bit when I tugged more firmly.

“...hurry, Ǽrendis... not sure how much longer I can hold this...”

The green glow flickered.

Ǽlfgifu was still walking stubbornly away from it, and I dug my heels into her flanks in my panic, hauling on the reins in desperation. She snorted irritably, and I was just freeing my feet from the stirrups to dismount, intending to drag her if I had to, when I saw the mist swirling away from a tall figure on a black horse, galloping towards us. I was directly in their path, and as the rider pulled his mount to a halt, so sharply that she reared, pawing the air, my hand slid to the long knife I carry at my belt.

When I realised it was Loki, I nearly dropped the blade in relief- then my head span. Hadn't he just been calling from...

I turned to look behind, where the green glow flickered mockingly, and heard an unpleasant laugh as it snuffed itself out.

Loki must have seen my terror, because he walked Dyrfinna over and held out his hand. I lifted my own to take it, then hesitated.

“If... if whatever that was could use his voice, how do I know you're truly Loki?” I asked, hoping with all my being that somehow he could reassure me. This place was unnatural and eerie, and I hated myself for being so scared of it.

He sighed.

“You don't.”

His hand dropped, caressing Ǽlfgifu's ear, and she nudged into his stroking fingers in a familiar fashion.

“But she does. She stopped you from following the light, yes?”

I nodded slowly.

“Trust her. In this place, she knows what is truth and what is illusion. Here, everything will try to trick you, to lead you away, off the path, into harm's way. The denizens of this place feed on unwary travellers, on their hopes and dreams, on their fear and regret. Don't become their next meal.”

His voice was low and calm, and when he opened his arms, nudging Dyrfinna just a step closer, I fell into them gratefully, nearly sliding from Ǽlfgifu's back in my relief to be touching something real.

“I'm so sorry,” he muttered into my hair. “I should never have brought you through the Mists without warning you of their dangers. I slip through so easily now that I forget how it is for those with no training in their perils.”

He released me, and I dragged myself back into the saddle, coughing selfconsciously. He kneed Dyrfinna around so that we were riding abreast, and I nudged Aelfgifu back into a walk, determined I would not be left behind again. Loki seemed to sense my unease, because he kept a slow, steady pace until the mist melted around us and we rode in bright sunshine, in a more vibrant woodland than any I had seen in Asgard.

As we left the last vestiges of fog behind, the prince halted his horse, and turned to me.

“Welcome to Alfheim,” he said softly, waiting for my reaction.

Which, as it turned out, was to to punch him not-too-gently on the arm. My knuckles scraped his bronze pauldron, and as I cradled my self-abused hand I glared at him accusingly.

“Alfheim?” I demanded. “ALFHEIM? You say we're going riding and lead me on a terrifying trek through the branches of Yggdrasil?” I leaned over, using my uninjured hand, and thumped him again, aiming more carefully this time.

He laughed, not even ducking, and I did it again.

“Oh, cease your mewling, wench,” he chuckled, grabbing my sore hand.

He pressed it gently between his palms, and green light glowed softly through his fingers. The sting left, and when he released my hand, all that was left of the cuts were a few specks of dried blood. I flexed my fingers, impressed despite myself.

“How did you do it?” I asked, taking up Aelfgifu's reins once more.

“It's just a simple manipulation of the body's energies, My own-”

“No,” I cut him off, “I mean, how did you get us here? I thought the only way out of Asgard was over the Bifrost.”

“Ah.” He frowned, evidently having been working up to a lengthy explanation of magical healing.

“The Mists. It was the simplest way to bring you here without causing a fuss. I can manipulate them enough to travel safely between Asgard and Alfheim with the horses- and one does need a horse to ride, yes?”

He crooked an eyebrow, and I couldn't help but smile.

~:~

I forgave him, of course. The woodland was so beautiful that it soothed any temper away. When we came to a break in the trees, and rolling hills swept up and away fro the treeline, he gestured towards the open ground in a gentlemanly fashion.

“My lady? I should hate to leave you behind again.”

I laughed, and took full advantage of his offer, nudging Aelfgifu forwards, faster and faster until the green turf flew underneath us, my horse's hooves pounding the earth. As we crested the brow of the hill, my steed picked up her hooves, leaping straight over a low-lying shrub, and I... fell off.

Into what, it transpired, was a thorn bush. A thorn bush with spines fully the length of the claws of a bilgesnipe, and viciously curved.

Aelfgifu had halted when she realised I was no longer in the saddle, and wandered back to nose at me in confusion. I heard the sound of laughter, and was shortly being whuffled at by two whiskery-soft horse noses.

Loki dismounted in one smooth movement, barely able to stand straight for laughing as I struggled to right myself. Unfortunately, the bush was incredibly springy, and I'd landed right in its centre. I couldn't put a foot to the ground, and every move I made sent more three-inch thorns driving into my flesh, hooking into my tunic and hair. My breeches, fortunately, were supple yet tough doeskin,so my legs at least were spared, but the rest of me was being torn to ribbons.

“Stop struggling,” Loki chuckled, and when I looked over to where he stood, tall against the skyline, he was weaving something out of green light. With a flick of his pale fingers, it snaked over to where I sprawled entangled, and slid glowing strands under my body and limbs. It was some kind of sling, I realised, as it tightened to support my weight. Its maker had already begun unhooking the vicious barbs from my clothing and skin with fastidious care, somehow not leaving a single tracery of red on his own skin.

The sling lifted me a few inches higher, and I squeaked as a thorn he had missed scored a line down my ribs, before he flicked it free with a murmured apology. Dislodging me from the last few thorns, he gestured with a graceful hand and the sling lifted me over the bush, and tilted, so that my feet touched the ground first. When I was supporting my own weight, his hand twisted, long fingers closing on the air, and the glowing cords vanished. I could still feel a slight tingle where they had touched my bare skin. 

I felt a nudge between my shoulder blades, and I turned to meet Aelfgifu's gaze.

“I'm alright, sweetling. Just sore.” I marvelled at how much I cared about her already. She was a remarkably intelligent horse- I had realised that when she refused to follow the false voice in the Mists. Now I wondered why...

My musings were cut off abruptly by a hand on my shoulder.

'You are not hurt?' he asked, concern in his voice. 'Nothing too deep?' 

I shook my head as I ran a palm down my horse's long nose- it was warm and strong and comforting, and she whuffled through my fingers. 

'I'm fine,' I replied. 'Sore, but fine.' Then I looked up, meeting his gaze. 'I'm sorry, my Prince, I must return. I cannot risk these festering, small as they are, and I have no means of cleaning them.'

I was genuinely disappointed, today was incredibly strange but I'd been enjoying it immensely.

'But I do.'

Flipping open one of Dyrfinna's exquisitely-tooled saddlebags, he rummaged for a while, then turned, tossing me a small black object as he did so. I caught it instinctively, like I would a ball, and nearly dropped it, not expecting the weight of stone. 

'What is this?' I asked him, temporarily distracted from my disappointment. It was about the size of the palm of my hand, a squat, black stone cylinder, wider than it was tall, with smooth, polished edges and a carved pattern of scrolling knotwork ringing the upright surface. What I assumed was the top was decorated with the familiar interlocking design of Yggdrasil, the World Tree. Upon closer inspection, my sensitive fingertips felt the tiniest groove ringing the stone about an inch from the top. I twisted, but nothing happened. 

I heard a soft chuckle beside me.

'Try widdershins, dearling.' 

I blushed at the casual endearment, and when I twisted it the other way, the top turned smoothly and came away in my hand.

My nose filled with a myriad scents. It was a jar, full of a colourless, dense ointment that smelled of the tang of herbs (I could pick out rosemary but nothing else) tempered with the gentle sweetness of honey. The imprints of fingertips marred the smooth, set surface.

'My mother made it. I have a habit of getting myself and others into mischief, and after the time I came home with my lips stitched together, she made me carry this on all my jaunts. It cleans the wound and aids healing.' He gestured over the brow of the hill towards the dell below. 'There's a stream yonder, clean water if you feel the need to wash the scratches. I shall stay out of sight. I've never been one to take advantage.' He winked, turning to take the bridles of both horses, and began to walk away along the crest of the hill before I'd said a word.

'My... my thanks, my Prince?' I stuttered, still at rather a loss as to the sheer familiarity with which he was treating me. 

'You are welcome,' he called over his shoulder. 'And stop calling me that, I've told you before.'

I groaned, realising that it was always his generosity which reminded me of the difference in status between us. I would have to work at that...

Wincing as my tunic pulled against the scratches in my skin, I trotted down the steep hill at an angle, into the rocks at the base of the dell. Sure enough, tricking between them was a cold, clear stream, and I ran and leaped from rock to rock until I found a pool, deep and round, where a tiny waterfall spilled from a mossy, grey ledge to foam over pebbles below. I looked up- and sure enough, from this niche in the rocks neither horses nor Aesir princeling could be espied. I touched a finger to the mixture in the pot in my hand, dabbing a little on a torn scoremark over the ball of my thumb, and smiled in relief as the cut went blessedly cool, ceased throbbing and visibly shrank in both length and width. I carefully re-lidded the jar and set it on the rocky shelf by the waterfall, thankful that I wouldn't have to strip completely. I wore deerskin breeches and sturdy knee-high boots from necessity- oftentimes a half-trained young hawk or falcon would fly off with their prey, and perch to devour it, instead of returning it to their mistress as their training demanded. I would, of course, have to go and find them, and they were rarely considerate enough to choose perches with clear ground below them. Sometimes a bird would even be caught and dropped- those were my very worst days, because by Freya's girdle, did I really expect a courtier to return home without the prey her falcon had rightfully caught?

But I thanked the necessities of my position now- from the waist down I was wholly sound. I unbuckled my belt, pulled off my short-sleeved overtunic, tossing them onto a dry rock away from the stream, and sat on my heels as I untied the laces at my undertunic's cuffs. It was a few minutes work, but soon they were loose enough for me to pull that, too, over my head, leaving me in the laced band that supported my breasts. Not having a cloth to soak was a difficulty, but I managed, washing my hands thoroughly in the rushing waterfall before palming ice-cold water over each scratch. The air was warm, and with a little rubbing, my skin was dry enough for the ointment to do its work. Before I began, I looked at the scratch on my hand-only a faint pink line marked that it had ever been there. My healing salves were nowhere near as good, but then this had come from the Queen's own herbery. I felt honoured to experience her skill firsthand. 

Only the barest touch was needed for each scratch, except for the very worst, where the thorns had broken off in my skin, and as I pulled them out I inspected each one carefully to be sure that no fragments remained embedded. I knew a man once who lost a finger from a splinter- he failed to get it out, and the dirt carried with it caused the wound to fester and rot. The healer, just a herbwife with no magic to speak of, had cut the finger off herself rather than let the rot spread. Had she not done so, it could have been his hand he lost.

I sat back on the rock, hands braced behind me, and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on my skin for a few moments. For just those few moments, I lost myself in natural silence- the trickle of the stream, wind in the leaves of a nearby tree, the occasional trill of birdsong. As I sat there, head back, eyes closed, I caught the notes of a flute on the air.

It was a jaunty, mischievous little tune, fading in and out of hearing, and I was listening for a few minutes before I realised I wasn't imagining it. 

I sat bolt upright. If that wasn't the eccentric prince, someone else was here, and I didn't fancy being caught without my tunic on by a band of elves. I had heard stories, and not all nice ones. I stretched to snag my undertunic and tugged it on, leaving the cuffs unfastened. Buckling on my belt, I thrust my overtunic through it, my haste outweighing the want for the extra warmth.

I climbed the slope as swiftly as I could, nearly losing my footing a couple of times when a rock wasn't as anchored as I supposed, but I made it up with no new injuries. When I looked around, I saw the horses some distance away, tethered by an ancient spreading oak. 

I stopped for a moment, hands braced on my knees, to catch my breath. I couldn't see Loki, but the mounts were definitely ours, unless Dyrfinna and Aelfgifu had twins in this realm, so I picked up my heels and jogged along the crest of the hill towards the tree. The music was definitely coming from that direction, and as I closed the distance I could see, in a gap between two huge branching roots, a golden cloth spread on the grass. Silver, green and red cushions were scattered around the edges, as well as what looked like a black wolf pelt.

The music, I now realised, was coming from the branches of the oak, where Loki perched on a wide, low bough, one long leatherclad leg drawn up to his chest while the other swung below the bough in time to his dancing music. He reminded me of one of his father's ravens, all haughty nose and sleek black hair, his leathers hanging from his shoulders like folded wings.

I couldn't help it- I collapsed with laughter.

Instantly, the music stopped, an exquisite bronze flute was tossed to the ground, bouncing off a crimson cushion, and Loki was striding towards me, jaw set, eyes blazing. 

'Just what, pray tell, is so amusing?' he hissed.

My laughter faded away and I cleared my throat selfconsciously.

'Um. Forgive me, my Pr.. Loki,' I hastily amended, 'Is... is this truly how you go riding with your brother?'

Loki's expression shifted slowly from displeased to warily suspicious.

'Yes. Why do you ask?'

I hedged.

'No servants, no companions? And you rest like this...' 

I gestured to the extravagant luncheon arrangements.

'We do. Spit it out, girl, what is so amusing?'

I bit my lip, worried I was going to laugh again.

'As I was walking up, it looked... it looked very much like the scene of a tryst.'

He stared at me blankly for a moment, then his lips widened into a grin, and he laughed so heartily that my own resolve broke and I joined him.

He slung an arm round my shoulders and pulled me over to the tree, tumbling down amongst the cushions. He sprawled in a leisurely fashion, nestled in the niche between the trunk of the tree and one of its spreading roots. He stretched like a cat, then growled irritably, swiping in the direction of the neat pile of saddles and tack near the place he'd tethered the horses.

'Damn. I need that saddlebag...'

I made to go and fetch it, but he clasped my wrist in one slender hand, tugging me off my feet. I landed with an undignified 'OOF' amonst the cushions, my head thudding off his chest, and when he raised his other hand and beckoned, the bag in question glided gracefully over and settled next to us.

'Do you have to throw that around so much?' I complained jokingly, unhooking my hair from his armour, and was a little startled when he froze.

I propped myself up on my elbows so I could look at him properly. I believe my expression told him what I was thinking, because he answered my unspoken question.

'I was under the impression that you were an intelligent woman, that you understood the general distrust of my seidr to be based entirely on misinformation and prejudice. Was I wrong?'

Though his tone was perfectly even, his voice calm, I could sense an edge to his words that remained unspoken.

'I choose companions who understand, who do not judge me based on supposition and superstition. Was I wrong?'

Now the edge was no longer hidden, and his words were like a blade. I hurried to apologise.

'I am sorry if I offended you, I had not realised you felt so strongly about it. I spoke in jest, Loki, I shan't do so again.'

There was silence for a few moments, but when Loki spoke once more his voice was dripping with mischief.

'So my dear, as you are female, and therefore an expert in such matters, just how well am I wooing the Thunderer?'

I relaxed. Evidently I was forgiven. Much as I liked Loki, his tantrums were legendary, and I would much prefer to stay in his good books.

'Let's see...' I mused, matching his teasing tone. 'A ride through a magical woodland, a private luncheon, exquisitely furnished- the cushions are a lovely touch, did you pick them yourself?'

'Naturally. I have a high appreciation for aesthetic effect.'

'In both your colours too, how beautifully they clash.'

He aimed a vicious jab at my ribs, and I rolled away, giggling.

'Is your courtship progressing to your satisfaction?' I enquired solicitously, when I had caught my breath.

'Abysmally,' Loki drawled, a dramatically melancholic expression on his features. 'I fear my love is doomed to remain unrequited, though perhaps I merely need to employ less subtle methods.'

He tilted his head quizzically.

'Well? Do you have any suggestions?'

I snorted indelicately.

'Since I clearly have more experience in these matters? I'd suggest... an elk. Possibly a bear. Delivered with the blood still warm and dripping, to his table as he eats.'

'Not a bilgesnipe?'

I laughed, smiling at him sceptically. 'I think we both know that's a little out of your league.'

We had been lounging side by side, but suddenly he rolled over, his knees straddling my hips, his face inches from my own.

'Are you,' he growled, 'calling my skills as a huntsman into question?'

~:~

At this point, I feel I should make something clear. This is not a love story. There shall be no romance, no declarations of unding affection- you were not expecting that, I hope. I make no promises that it shall end well. I may be telling you this story, but have you forgotten the name of his daughter? She keeps a lovely house, but few return from her hospitality.

These vows I shall make- there will be friendship, kinship, comradeship. There will be heartache, heartbreak and hardships. There will be blood, dishonour, and fire.

But most of all, there will be the hunt.

~:~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seidr, for those who don't know, is one of the Norse words for magic, and it was seen as a womanly practise, and dishonourable for men. Which is hilarious, because Odin used it.


End file.
